Pomegranate
by Evil Bunny1
Summary: How many beliefs are based on misconceptions? How many stories are shrouded in twisted lies? Tales are filled with misunderstood characters; and who is more misunderstood than the villan.


**Pomegranates **

By: Evil Bunny

Chapter 1; _Read between the tangled lines._

**_oooo _**

"'_Empty-handed I entered the world_

_barefoot I leave it._

_My coming, my going-_

_Two simple happenings_

_That got entangled.'_

_Written by Zen Monk Kozan Ichikyo who died on the twelfth day of the second month, 1360 at the age of seventy seven. He wrote this poem on the morning of his death, laid down his brush, and died sitting upright."_

**_oooo _**

He sat crouched against the side of the shed. Eyes closed, praying that whatever god that had allowed him to get this far would not now find his devotion lacking. He fought against the acid pinch of vigilante tears, these things were not needed now. The issuant thud of wood and leather clad feet pounded around him, their angry voices resounding and bitter in his ears.

"You know it was that Nanahara brat." One ground out.

"Eh. To steal so many is not like him, and to carry so much so quickly… No, I don't think he could manage it." An older voice reasoned.

There was silence, and a shuffling of feet, "Well? What shall we do now?"

"Go home." The older voice sighed out. "And curl up with the warm bodies of our wives."

There were many mumbled agreements and a few sighs of longing, most likely from those lacking in conjugal areas. As the night waned the village grew quiet again, all finding their bedding once more, and resting from their late night rally.

Meanwhile a boy of fourteen summers sat quietly trembling against the wall of the shed, the weight of his yukata not enough to keep out the damp cold. It should have been exchanged for something more suitable to the cool nights, but not having anything warmer to wear he persisted on. His mind was strong; he could imagine his heart as a fire, pumping embers instead of blood. Some nights this thought kept him warm, but not now.

The basket in his arms creaked slightly and his arms clamped around it. His breath came in harsh, adrenaline fed gasps; he was shaking. Lowering his head to the crudely woven wood in his arms, he sighed. So the Almighty had given him a break this time, for once. Trying desperately to calm his heart, he didn't not hear the sound of the well oiled door sliding open, or see the delicately slippered feet cautiously step in; the finely wrought silk now dusty from the earthen floor, her beautifully crafted robes making not a sound as she stepped forward.

"Nanahara-san?" Her gentle voice questioned.

The boy's head lifted so abruptly that his neck cracked. His body tensed as he jerked it around to meet her gaze, crimson fruit spilling around her feet. "M-Matsui-dono!"

Her soft laugh brought a blush to his cheeks. "Oh please do not call me that. You make me want to turn and look for someone else. Can you not find it in your heart to call me Kayoko?" Her cheeks took on a gentle flush as he met her wide deep blue eyes.

"Of course, Kayoko-san." His voice we rough and low, and he could not seem to tear his sight from her.

Matsui Kayoko, the youngest and only daughter of their lord and proprietor, born not three months after himself. Said to be a kind man, her father's home resided on the top of the largest swell, over-looking the crops, fruit groves and rice paddies the town cared for. Seeking greater fortune for the village his grandfather had founded, he took extended trips to neighboring towns to inniciate trade; and with the aid of the nearest town had traveled to Edo and Kyoto to attract merchants. Having only met the man once, the eldest and only remaining Nanahara male, could only attest to the fact that he was a large man; but indeed kind.

Kayoko was the first to break the moment, a brilliant flush staining her pretty cheeks as she averted her eyes to the floor. Realizing that he had indeed been staring, he began to mumble through an apology. "Well, let's get these picked up, shall we?" The light feminine voice sliced though his mind, erasing all thoughts, including those of apologizing.

His eyes widened in shock as slender elegant fingers began collecting stolen fruit. "No!"

It was Kayoko's turn to look shocked. "Pardon?"

"You shouldn't. Don't get your hands stained, I can do it." He brushed her hands gently aside as he pilled them back into the basket. "Your father would be angry to know you were helping me in the first place." He spoke quietly, ashamed not at the fact that he had stolen from the village groves, but ashamed that she had been the one to find out.

"Don't be silly." Her voice was incredulous, "Why did you not ask for them in the first place?"

"I did."

She blinked at him confusedly, "I don't understand."

He scoffed, inside happy that she didn't seem to get the social stigma that surrounded his family. "These are not rationed out, you know that. They are only available by request."

Again she blinked, tilting her head to the side she leaned closer as if to get a better look at him. "And you requested them, did you not?"

He raised his head, eyes simmering with a quiet anger. "Yes. My request was denied." His voice was clipped.

Kayoko's lips parted, and she tried to form the question that had taken up stubborn lodging on the tip of her tongue. "Buy why?! The harvest was good, they were plentiful this year! I know that we gave bundlefulls to Hatagami-sama as goodwill." Her fingers reached out and coiled around his wrist, as if trying to convey her insistence.

His eyes simply locked onto the unusual sight before him. Her pale beautiful fingers curled against his tanned tough looking wrist. Such a study of contrasts it was; and how good it felt. His anger simply melted away, it oozed silkily into contentment at her touch. With gentle eyes and a small smile he met her gaze again. "You really don't understand. Do you?"

_**oooo **_

Had she always thought he was beautiful? Maybe not, she had thought him attractive; his face had never really carried the youthful demeanor of so many of the other village boys. Many had commented that he had been born with wise eyes and the carriage of a small adult. His family resided in a small, very old home at the edge of town, and in the embrace of the forest.

She had no memory of him ever having a father, for as long as she could remember, the Nanahara's had been him, his mother and his younger sister. But for as long as she _could_ remember, she had watched him.

The look in his eyes caused her heart to stutter, and warmth that had nothing to do with the remarkable clothing she wore, began to rise from her chest. "No. I do not." Her answer was quiet, and her fingers tightened a bit on his arm.

His eyes, those flawless orbs the color of the finest polished rosewood, lowered again to her hand. She watched as a muscle in his jaw jumped, and her heart sank at the thought that he might possibly be angry with her. But then something amazing happened; those amazing eyes met hers and he was transformed into the most beautiful celestial being by a wide grin.

"Good." His voice was warm, and flowed over her neck, her face, and her shoulders. "That's good." With that said, he rose; and she let her fingers slide over the back of his hand and down the roughly hewn basket. Slowly he made his way around her, bare feet and ankles still bearing evidence of his late night run.

Kayoko blinked vacantly at the empty space he left behind, her mind whirling deliciously fast. "Kayoko-san?" That voice again, her heart gave another stuttering jump as she looked up at him. Strong slightly grungy fingers gently held a beautifully ripe pomegranate.

_**oooo**_

She was blinking at him again, in that adorably confused way she had. "They are one of your favorites, are they not?" He moved his hand again, gently offering it to her, and feeling slightly like a fool doing so. Surely she could have as many as she wanted, without having someone to steal them for her.

Her lips parted, and she gave a small gasp of realization. With sparkling eyes and a happy smile she took his hand and the fruit between both of hers. "Yes." She affirmed. "Yes, they are. How did you know?"

His cheeks heated slightly, and a piece of his mind screamed at him to lie to her, but he did not. "You, well…you tend to carry their sent."

She took the fruit in her hands, bringing it to her nose as if to attest for herself that this was indeed true. Speaking from behind it, with blue eyes shinning above flushed cheeks, she asked; "You've noticed?"

Feeling just a bit foolish, and for the first time very flustered he brought his free hand to the back of his neck, the other tightening his hold on the basket resting on his hip. "Urm, yes." For some reason this caused her to giggle happily. Knowing he was the reason, he flushed heavily.

The call of an owl saved him from swallowing his tongue. Sighing he offered her a hand. "You should be home, it's late. Come on. Before someone notices your absence and worries." Not letting go of her hand he used his shoulder to slide open the door and led her out into the damp night. Dropping her hand he motioned absently towards the path that led up the hill to her home. He watched her go, with slightly bouncing steps, and turned to make his was to the edge of the woods with a small smile.

"Thank you." Came a harried whisper, and turning to look over his shoulder, he saw Kayoko looking at him happily. "Thank you Onigumo-kun."

With a nod and a smile he continued on his way.

_**oooo**_

So, who did you think it was? I know I probably fudged the timeline and such. I have no idea when pomegranates fruit; the end of summer? Eh. How I could neglect to research such a pinnacle part of my story…such a fool I am.


End file.
